


License to Drive

by Joryuu (Halfcent)



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfcent/pseuds/Joryuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davy wants to get his driver's license. Who else to turn to but Papa Nez?</p>
            </blockquote>





	License to Drive

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 1). This is pretty much a pointless story. No real plot other than Mike teaching Davy to drive (sort of). It's a frivolous piece meant to clear my head of plot bunnies so I can better concentrate on the longer, more involved, plot-ridden multi-chapter I'm working on. This is more about friendship than anything else.
> 
> A/N # 2 – see bottom.
> 
> Side Note: During some of my research about 1960's driver licenses, I got curious. Look up 'Davy Jones 1960s Driver License' on Google images. It's the very first picture!

Mike hummed to himself as he sifted the flour and doled out the oil, occasionally letting lyrics slip into his self-serenade. He heard one of the guys coming in from the balcony just as he was cracking the first egg into the bowl. The snicker that followed left no doubt as to who had come in even though Mike had his back to the bandstand and the balcony door.

Mike looked up just as Davy stepped into the open kitchen and he scrubbed his hands down the front of his apron, ridding them of a flour coating made pasty by egg slime.

“Laugh all ya want,” Mike accepted mildly, knowing the reason for his English roommate's mirth. It was always a reason for smiles and gentle teasing. He'd think the guys would be used to it by now. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd worn the frilly apron his aunt Kate had given him. He supposed that one day he might come across one that might look better on a man than ruffles and flowers, but in the mean time, it was good enough or his aunt Kate and it was good enough for him. Besides, it was a gift, and it was rude not to make use of a gift. “But I don't want to have to change clothes. You know how messy I am when I'm bakin'.”

“You always remind me of me auntie Mamie when you wear it,” Davy giggled.

“Funny, I didn't think height ran in yer family,” Mike joked back.

“Oh, no, she's short, she is.” Davy tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “It's the sideburns. Me auntie, she loves 'er sideburns.”

“Just for that, you don' get any o'my biscuits.”

“Biscuits?” Davy perked. “What kinda biscuits you making, Mike?” Davy's interest was not subtle, nor his attempt to let Mike's idle threat slip by without acknowledgment. “Chocolate chip? Raisin?” He leaned over and attempted to peek into the bowl.

“Not yer kin' o'biscuits, Tiny.” Mike smiled as he glanced at Davy. “My kin' o'biscuits. The kin' you call scones. Not cookies. Breakfast biscuits.”

“Just as good,” Davy complimented with anticipation. “How long will they take, Mike?”

Mike shook his head in good humor and decided he'd best make a second batch. “Not long, once I get 'em in the oven,” he answered as he walked to the fridge. “Dang it,” he muttered, peering in.

“What's wrong?”

“Out o'butter.”

“I'll go!” Davy quickly volunteered.

“Micky!” Mike called, doing a good job of drowning out Davy's eager offer. He directed his voice to the staircase, thinking their curly-headed friend might be taking a nap. It had been some time since he'd seen him downstairs. “Mick, I need you to go to the store!”

“Mick's not 'ere,” Davy informed him. “'E's out with Niles. Said 'e was gonna see if 'e could 'elp Niles fix 'is car.”

“Oh,” Mike said, somewhat deflated. He sighed, deciding that he'd have to ask Pete to go for him. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Peter was generally Mike's second choice of drivers for the car, though, after Micky. Peter drove fine, in general, but sometimes he had a tendency to get distracted. It made Mike nervous and he'd been witness to more than one close call. Enough that he had to wonder how many he hadn't been witness to. Because of that, it was just as well that Peter usually preferred to walk or take a bus. He liked to people watch, he always said, and that was just fine with Mike. But he needed the butter quickly and he didn't have time to wait around while Peter took the bus across town to the discount grocery, which meant he'd have to take the Monkeemobile.

“Where's Peter?” Mike asked. “Is he around or is he out, too?”

“'E was out on the beach when I was down there but 'e said 'e was gonna go hang out at the record store. 'E left before I came in.”

“Dang it,” Mike muttered.

“I'll go,” Davy offered again.

Mike sighed. He knew where this was going. It had been a recurring theme for a couple weeks, any chance Davy got the chance to bring it up. “I'll take ya up on that, Tiny, but only if you walk to the corner store for it.”

Davy's disappointment and irritation was obvious, as he surely meant it to be. “That store is too expensive, you say so yourself! Come on, mate, let me take the car?”

“Forget it, Davy.” Mike shook his head and pulled the string on his apron, then pulled it off. He was going to have to go himself. “You ain't getting behin' the wheel till you get yer license.”

“I've been driving since I was fourteen,” Davy said indignantly. Mike sighed. This was not the first time he'd heard this. Davy crossed his arms over his chest and indulged in a rather childish pout.

“Not licensed, you aint,” Mike reminded the younger boy. “An' not over here. Not much, anyway. Last time you got behin' the wheel you couldn't keep on the right side of the street!”

“Not my fault you yanks drive on the wrong side,” Davy muttered. He sat down hard in one of the kitchen chairs, put his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand. He was the very picture of dejection. “How am I supposed to get licensed if I can't drive, Mike?”

“Alright, alright. I promised you when we first met I'd help ya get yer license and I ain't done it yet, so I guess it's time t'make good on my promise. We'll go out and get some practice, okay?”

“Now?” Davy sat upright eagerly.

“No, we'll start tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“Practice tomorrow,” Mike said again and looked over to his bowl of ingredients. “Butter today. Guard the biscuits in case Micky gets home, will ya? If he thinks it's cookies he'll eat it raw.”

With that, he left Davy sitting in the kitchen over the bowl of half-finished biscuit dough.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Mike was awakened by Davy, which would have been surprise enough. While Davy didn't usually sleep quite as late as Micky was prone to, he also wasn't as early a riser as Peter and Mike, who were usually the first two up in respective order. However, that aside, it was the way in which Mike was awakened that made it somewhat startling.

The room was still dark. The colorless light peeking in around the edges of the bedroom window blinds was closer to dawn than day. Mike stirred, disturbed from his sleep. At first he thought perhaps one of Micky's sleep-noises had wakened him, but his bedroom mate was still snoring lightly. Half turning onto his other side, Mike came nose to nose with a face, inches from his own.

He sucked in a frightened breath at the same moment that Davy, crouched at the side of Mike's bed, stage whispered “Mike!”

Mike flattened himself on his back, a hand at his heart while he slowed his breathing and his startled heart rate.

“You awake?” Davy asked, again in a not so quiet whisper.

“YES, I'm awake,” he managed with irritation. “What in tarnation are you doing?”

“You said we'd go driving today.”

“Davy-” Mike squinted to see his clock in the gloom. He finally gave up when he couldn't make the numbers come into focus through his bleary-eyed gaze. “Ya couldn't wait till I woke up? What time is it, anyway? I can't remember the last time you were up this early.”

“I don't wanna waste any time today,” Davy answered solemnly. “And I don't want to give you a chance to forget about it, either.”

“I ain't gonna forget. I promised we'd go, and we'll go.”

“So you gonna get up, then?”

In his own bed several feet away, Micky snorted, groaned, rolled over and grumbled “Could you guys have this conference somewhere else? Some people are still trying to sleep, y'know.”

Davy craned his neck to see Micky's bed over Mike's prone body. “Is he dreaming or awake?” he wondered.

“With him, no tellin'” Mike deadpanned. He knew Micky was awake, though, and figured it was time to move their conversation elsewhere or the sleep-greedy drummer was going to wake up cranky. One thing Mike had learned since Micky had been one of his three best friends was that the only thing that came from a cranky drummer was a lot of noise when he took his ill humor out on his instrument.

“Fine,” Mike surrendered. “You go on downstairs, I'll get dressed and be down.”

“Thanks, Mike!” Davy stood up, all smiles, and Mike saw that Davy was already dressed, right down to his perfectly styled hair. He'd been up for some time, it seemed, and Mike wondered how long his friend had waited before tiptoeing into the bedroom to wake him up.

_Davy must be really excited for this_ , Mike thought to himself. They routinely kept late nights and Davy liked his sleep. Perhaps not quite as much as Micky but not too far behind. It meant something that he'd been awake before dawn.

Davy left the room, closing the door quietly. Mike lay there for several minutes wondering how long he could get away with it before Davy came back up to roust him from his bedsheets. Deciding that a couple more winks wasn't worth the trouble of finding out, Mike untangled himself from his bedding and quietly went about shaving in the bedroom's adjoining bathroom and then dressing. He was nominally awake by the time he went downstairs.

He found Peter seated at the kitchen table. The blonde was still wearing his bright orange pajamas, complete with stocking cap. He held a steaming mug of tea in both hands while he watched Davy in befuddlement.

Davy, for his part, stood leaning on the counter. The keys to the Monkeemobile were in one hand, tinkling a random tune as Davy jiggled them on one finger. The other hand held a steaming mug with what Mike could only assume was coffee, as the younger boy was standing inches away from the coffee maker. Davy's foot was tapping a rhythm on the floor impatiently. When Mike walked in, Davy stood up straight and shoved the coffee mug into Mike's hands, only barely managing not to slosh the hot contents and burning both of them.

“'Ere you go, Mike! Made the coffee for you, so you don't 'afta take the time to make it. Drink up, now! I'll be waiting in the car.”

Mike stuttered an inarticulate thank you at Davy's back as the other boy left the room. Moments later they could hear the sound of the front door as it closed behind Davy.

Mike blinked, then sat at the table across from Peter.

“What's up with him?” Peter asked, the bewilderment in his voice matching the expression still on his face.

Mike shook his head in amusement. He took a sip of his coffee, which was surprisingly made exactly the way he liked it, then answered. “I promised him I'd take him out for a drivin' lesson today.”

“This early?”

“No, not _this_ early,” Mike said wryly. “He had a different idea, though. If I didn't agree he'd probably still be up there pesterin' me.”

“I hope he didn't wake Micky up,” Peter said solemnly, eyes wide. “I don't think I can take a day of a cranky Micky. Last time I had a headache for two days.”

“I think we're safe,” Mike laughed.

“You know he was already up before me? Not sure how long, but he was pacing around the couch when I got up.”

“Wonder how long he put off comin' upstairs to drag me outta bed.”

Both men looked up when they heard the door again and Peter smiled at Mike. “Better finish that,” he gestured to Mike's coffee. “I think you're about to leave.” His smile turned to a wider grin at Mike's expense when Davy came around the staircase into the kitchen.

“Mike! What's takin' you so long, mate?”

“Davy, it ain't been but a minute or two,” Mike sighed.

“We're wasting daylight!”

“We ain't wastin' much,” Mike said mildly. He stood up and set his half full mug into the sink. “It ain't been daylight for a full hour yet.”

“I've never seen you so excited, Davy,” Peter remarked, still sporting his wide grin.

“Mike's gonna 'elp me get me US American driving license,” Davy gleefully informed the blonde.

Neither remarked on the Englishman's redundancy of the statement.

“Ready, Mike?”

“Awright, awright, Tiny. Let's go. See ya later, Pete.”

“Good luck,” Peter called as his friends as they left the Pad.

 

* * *

 

Mike knew that Davy's statement the day before had been truthful. The younger man did have experience driving. Just not much on the US side of the pond. He didn't need a lesson in the basics of driving or how to operate a vehicle. He just had to learn the local laws of the road, get a little practice under his belt and remember to stay on the right side of the street.

Mike waited patiently in the passenger seat while Davy carefully adjusted the mirrors and reset the seat closer to the wheel to better fit his shorter stature.

Both remained quiet for some time while Davy pulled out and navigated the streets. It was early enough that most of the streets were empty, but Mike knew that soon enough they'd get busier with traffic as people began leaving their homes and driving to work. Mike had to admit to himself that Davy was a decent driver, for all that he needed a little practice. He kept his eyes on the road and focused on what was going on around him. His turns were a little hesitant. Not problematic but not as smooth as they could be. Mike decided that was a good starting point and directed Davy to go around the next block several times.

“'Ey, Mike...” Davy broke the comfortable silence as he took a right turn for the fifth time. “ What would you think of me learning to play on the drums?”

Mike's brows rose in surprise. “You wanna learn to play the drums?”

Davy shrugged. “I wouldn't hate it,” he admitted. “It's just somethin' me and Micky been tossing around, that idea.”

“You already got Pete teaching you the bass. Ya think you can handle learnin' both at the same time?”

“Sure I can,” Davy said confidently as he turned right yet again. “I like the bass,” he added, his mind momentarily pulled from the drums. “And Peter say I'm doing well. I know Peter wants to start adding keyboard to some of our arrangements and if I can take over bass for 'im those times, that would be groovy.”

“I agree,” Mike said truthfully. It was something they'd already talked about and Davy learning to play bass had been a group decision. “When you get back on Main, go up to the next block, get in the left lane and start taking lefts,” Mike instructed.

“I was beginnin' to get dizzy,” Davy joked. The traffic was beginning to fill the streets and Davy carefully changed lanes on the main street until he got into the left-most lane. This was a one-way street with several lanes; it was not necessary to worry about which side of the street he needed to drive on other than knowing which lane he needed to be in to get where he was going. He pulled up to a stoplight and put his left blinker on, prepared to begin making left turns when the light turned green. He knew the area. Being part of downtown, many of the surrounding blocks were one-way streets, alternating in direction, so he'd be able to make full blocks over and over.

“You never said what you think about Micky teaching me to drum,” Davy reminded Mike.

Mike detected something he identified as either hesitancy or uncertainty in Davy's tone. It was such little things that reminded Mike how young Davy really was. Just a teenager, still, at eighteen. Like the other two, Davy often relied on Mike's leadership but Mike often forgot that Davy, only three years younger than Mike himself at twenty one, was really still just a kid. Davy was cocky and brash, confident sometimes to a fault. But Mike knew that Davy also sort of looked up to him and usually valued his opinion.

“I don't have no objections to it,” Mike assured his younger friend. He didn't really know when Davy would get a chance to play the drums once he'd had enough lessons to do so, because Micky didn't play any other instruments, but if Micky wanted to teach it and Davy wanted to learn it, who was he to stand in the way? “I think it's good to be well rounded,” he added, noting Davy's relief. “Never hurts to have someone who can jump in in a pinch.”

They fell silent once again and rode in companionable quiet while Davy made the block in lefts over and over. He got noticeably more confident with each corner, just as he had with the rights. Less hesitation, smoother corners. Mike took advantage of the one way blocks to have Davy practice changing lanes between each corner. It probably annoyed several other drivers, the frequent lane changes without reason, but Mike figured that as long as they were making blocks, they didn't have to worry about the same sets of annoyed drivers. It was a new set with each block, so no one was irritated enough to do more than shoot annoyed looks at the two young men in the distinctive car.

“You ate breakfast yet?” Mike asked as his stomach started to remind him that he'd had nothing but half a cup of coffee.

“Not yet.”

“Okay, on the next block get in the far right lane and go up through two lights. We'll stop at that little diner that has those pancakes Micky loves, on me.”

“Spoonful?”

“Yeh, that one.”

“You 'ave money for that?”

Mike smirked at Davy's side-eye. “I went out mowin' lawns yesterday, remember? I got a few bucks. Enough for this. We'll bring the guys something back later.

Mike gave quiet encouragement while Davy struggled to parallel park, then they went inside. They were both familiar with the diner and ordered quickly without bothering to open their menus.

“Thanks for this, Mike,” Davy said in what could almost be called a timid voice. His accent was a little more pronounced than usual. “I don't know who else would teach me, if not you.”

“Not a problem, Tiny,” Mike said with a fond smile. He'd had a soft spot for Davy since the day he'd met the young man a year ago, a teenager in a new country without a guardian of any sort. They'd both been lonely and far from home and had quickly formed a brotherly bond. A bond that had soon encompassed Peter and Micky, as well.

“I reckon I should have a long time ago,” Mike added guiltily. “I tol' you I would, after all, and we never got 'round to it.”

“Well we are now,” Davy smiled.

“You're doin' good, too.”

“When do you think I could take the test, Mike?”

Mike shrugged. “A few days practicin', a few days studying the book we'll pick up from the office before we go home. Maybe by next week.”

“If we can get the money for the fee,” Davy sighed.

“Don' worry 'bout that,” Mike reassured as the waitress set their food on the table. “We'll get it.”

They spent the rest of the morning and the rest of the tank of gas in the Monkeemobile hitting various areas of town to give Davy as diverse a bit of practice as they could think of. A couple of early close calls as he forgot which side of the road he belonged on was the only excitement and soon enough they decided they'd better get back to the Pad before they ran out of gas and had to walk. On the way home, as promised, they stopped at the DMV office. Mike went inside and returned moments later with a book for Davy to study for the written portion of the driving exam.

Even though they'd been out for hours, they'd started early enough that it was only mid-morning by the time they got home. Micky was still upstairs asleep and Peter was sitting on the bandstand, properly dressed now, idly playing a guitar.

Davy plopped himself on the couch and immediately opened the driving handbook. Mike held up a bag with the to-go order he'd made for Peter and Micky. “Breakfast,” he said to Peter, who nodded, and Mike carried it into the kitchen and put it into the fridge.

“How'd he do?” Peter asked as Mike joined him on the bandstand.

“Pretty good,” Mike answered. “He'll prolly be able to take the test in a couple days if he studies the handbook.”

Peter's skilled and nimble finger idly played a random tune on his guitar as he looked up at Davy. He chuckled and gave a pointed nod “Look like he's going to have to study later. You must be a hard teacher.”

Mike's eye followed Peter's nod to see that Davy had already fallen asleep on the couch, the handbook open to the first page and resting on his chest. “Guess he ain't an early mornin' person after all,” he smirked.

 

* * *

 

The next several days saw Davy almost exclusively interested in the handbook and driving lessons and not much else. Davy pestered Mike every day until they managed to get out on the streets for at least a couple of hours; before and after the lessons one could be sure to find Davy either in his and Peter's room, on the couch or on the balcony with his face in the handbook. Mike was forced to threaten and cajole him away long enough for their daily band rehearsals, which Davy took part in with a distracted frame of mind.

No doubt, Mike figured, Davy was mentally reciting and remembering the driving rules and laws he'd been studying in the book, even while he was supposed to have his mind on the music with the rest of them. Mike thought that it was just as well that they didn't currently have a gig because Davy's mind wasn't on the job.

While Davy's progress through the handbook got him closer and closer to the back cover, the rest of the guys, Mike in particular, did some scrambling to cover the gas needed for the daily driving lessons and the fee for Davy's upcoming test. Neighborhood lawns were mowed and hedges trimmed by Mike between the ever-improving lessons with Davy. Friend's cars were tinkered back into working order by Micky's moderate knowledge. Peter's banjo on a street corner collected change and dollar bills. Odd jobs were taken up in the same fashion they often were between gigs when food was getting scarce or rent was coming up. The daily tanks of gas were collected with the extra socked away to grow into enough for the fee of the exam. At night they quizzed Davy on what he'd read and memorized in the book that day.

A week and a half from the day of the first lesson they knew he was as ready as he could ever get. It had been days since Davy had forgotten what side of the street to drive on and he hadn't been yelled at by another driver for longer than that. They'd quizzed him on the last chapter of the book, receiving correct answers to every question. The full cost needed for the test was collected in a sock in Peter's underwear drawer. The only thing left to do was wait for the next morning, when Davy was scheduled for his test, and to calm the young Englishman's mounting panic.

The three older Monkees sat in the living watching with varying degrees of amusement and bewilderment while Davy paced a circuit of the living room, around and around. He was mumbling under his breath, and any time he passed by Mike, the Texan caught bits and pieces of disjointed recitation from the handbook that Davy had been obsessively studying for more than a week.

“I don't get why he's so nervous,” Peter said, shaking his head. “He knows that book cover to cover. You said he's doing great on the road.”

“He is,” Mike confirmed. “He only needed a little smoothin' out. He drives as well anybody now.”

“That might not be saying much in this town,” Micky joked.

When Davy passed Micky on his next round, Micky stood up and intercepted his friend. “Davy, man, you gotta calm down,” he said, his hands on the shorter boy's shoulders, stopping his continuous pacing. “You're making us dizzy, man! You know Mike gets sea sick.”

Mike ignored the joke at his expense...even if it was true...and went to stand next to Micky. “He's right, man, yer gonna wear yerself out. Calm down, would ya? You ain't got a thing to worry about.”

“You know every rule and law in that book,” Peter reminded him. “Most of them probably won't even be on the test.”

“And you are doing great on the road,” Mike pointed out, not for the first time. “You got it in the bag, babe. Relax.”

“I know, I know,” Davy sighed. “It's just the test, you know. I don't like tests.”

“P'shaw, nothing to it!” Micky waved expressively, an exaggerated dismissal. “Besides, you've taken tests before, why is this different? You did it then, you can do it now.”

“I was like then, too, no matter what kind,” Davy admitted. “I get so tired and sick from worrying by the time I take a test I don't know how I pass. Sometimes I don't.”

“Well, you ain't gonna do that this time, Tiny,” Mike announced. “You need to get ya some sleep so y'er fresh in the morning. Okay?”

“I can try,” Davy sighed, “but I can't promise I can fall asleep.”

“Just try,” Peter suggested kindly. “Come on, we can both go to bed and that way if you need to talk for a while before you fall asleep I'll be there.”

“Okay, mate,” Davy agreed reluctantly. “I feel too wound up but I'll try. Night, fellas.” He waved to Mike and Micky and followed Peter to their bedroom.

“Well, at least we won't wake up and see that he's paced a trench around the couch.”

Mike shook his head fondly at his energetic friend, a mental picture forming at Micky's words. “I don't know that he's gonna get any sleep at all, wound up like he is,” Mike sighed. “But he has a better chance at it in bed than he does runnin' a race in here.”

He headed upstairs, Micky following behind. It _was_ late and Mike figured that if Davy was in the same state in the morning, he was going to need his own fresh energy to meet it head on.

“Why do you think he's so nervous anyway?” Micky asked as he followed Mike into their bedroom. “It's not like he can't take the test again if he doesn't pass.” Mike pulled his nightclothes out of a drawer and began changing as Micky went into their small adjoining bathroom with his own.

Mike was pulling his bedding down, ready to climb under, when Micky emerged from the bathroom.

“Well, no one really likes tests, I guess, right?” Mike stated, continuing their conversation. It wasn't really a question. He supposed that there might be people out there that didn't mind tests, but he was not one of them. He didn't generally panic like Davy was but he supposed there were different levels to it.

“Yeah, but he's usually so confident.” Micky pulled his own bedding down and climbed under the blankets.

“I guess it's just important to him,” Mike pointed out. “Truth be told, it's kinda important to me, too. Think about it, how did you learn to drive?”

Micky shrugged casually, as if the answer was obvious. “My dad.” That was the answer Mike had expected.

“For me it was my aunt Kate and my uncle John. And for Peter it was prolly his parents, too,” Mike said pointedly. “I kind of feel responsible, ya know? All of us but you are pretty far from our families and even yours are a few hours away. But Davy – he's been here for a while without anyone but us, y'know? And he's just a kid.”

“You're not so old yourself, you know,” Micky reminded Mike with amusement. “You're not even twenty two yet.”

“I know,” Mike said with a frown. He didn't say that he usually felt older than that. “But his people are so much further away, y'know? When we did the first driving lesson last week, he said he didn't know who'd have done this for him if not me.”

“Whoa,” Micky breathed. “That's heavy, man.”

“Yeah, it is. It can't be easy for him. We really are all he has. I mean, I know it's like that for all of us to an extent, but...”

“I get what you mean.”

“I want him to do good.”

“He will. He had a good teacher.”

Mike chuckled at the compliment. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Now I don't know about you, but I'm going to try to get some sleep in case we have to chase him around the living room in the morning.”

“Yeh, we better,” Mike agreed, yawning. “Night, Mick.” Mike reached to his bedside table and clicked off his lamp. A moment later Micky's went dark as well.

“Night, Papa Nez,” Micky joked in John Boy style.

Mike just smiled.

In the other bed, Micky rolled over and yawned as his eyes already began to grow heavy. He'd probably never tell Mike that when he'd said 'that's heavy', he hadn't been talking about Davy's predicament at all. Davy had the three of them, and while it might seem tough, they got on all right. Micky had actually been speaking of the heavy mantle of responsibility that Mike must be carrying to feel that he had to be what each of them might be missing from their families.

It was this mantle, Micky knew, that fostered the already ingrained sense of obligation and maturity that Mike had come to them with. Being the oldest of the four of them as well as the acknowledged leader of their band might have had a little to do with it, but he thought it had more to do with the fact that that the three of them responded to Mike's penchant for needing to make sure things were taken care of, people were taken care of and things got handled when they needed to be. All four of them were young, but only one was older than his years and the rest of them, Micky knew, let Mike fill that space that each of them had for someone like that in their lives.

It worked well for all of them, but sometimes Mike took on things that he really shouldn't feel responsible for. Mike was good at keeping still about how that mantle might lay across his shoulders, about how heavy it might be, until a little hint slipped out.

Papa Nez, indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

 

They were all up early the next morning. They'd decided to descend upon the DVM en masse for moral support. Mike thought Davy looked a bit tired, but otherwise he seemed fine. He was visibly nervous but no longer panicked or erratic. He wasn't in a social mood, though. He chose to sit alone in a corner of the back seat of the Pontiac. He'd initially tried to take the handbook with him for some last minute studying but Micky had yanked it from his hands and tossed it into their yard as they backed out of the driveway, stating that he'd burn himself out and freeze during the test. Mike had worried for a moment that Micky's words would trigger another anxiety attack in Davy, but he seemed okay. A moment of panic and anger as his precious handbook hit the grass, then petulant resignation. He'd crossed his arms and pouted as he'd stared out the window for the first couple of miles.

Mike had a surprise for the other three. He'd scraped enough money together for them to go to breakfast. He'd suspected that they'd leave the Pad with some time to spare and without breakfast, both in the name of nervousness, and his suspicions had proven correct. At the diner, Davy's nerves made his appetite reluctant at first, but with encouragement he took a couple bites of the fluffy pancakes on his plate. That seemed to encourage the younger man's appetite and Mike was gratified to see him finally tuck in and polish off the stack. His mood seemed much improved when he pushed his plate away.

They pulled up to the DMV with two minutes to spare and Davy was checking in on the dot. Receiving inquiring glances from the clerk, Mike backed away toward a line of chairs against the wall, Peter and Micky following his example, and said “We're his ride. We'll just wait right here.” He didn't want to risk being told they couldn't hang out until Davy was done. He hoped Micky could manage to keep his excess energy under control long enough.

Davy took a deep breath, threw his three seated friends a nervous smile and followed another employee through a doorway across from where the guys were seated. Mike leaned to his left a little to peek through the door and saw a few classroom-style desks. There was no one else in the room and the test monitor directed Davy to the first desk, handed him a sheaf of papers and a pencil and settled himself nearby in another desk. Apparently he was going to stay to supervise. Mike hoped that having someone sitting nearby and obviously waiting for him to finish didn't make Davy any more nervous. Mike sat back when the clerk walked over and shut the door, giving Mike a reproving glance that he ignored.

The minutes passed slowly. Micky alternated between jiggling his legs or feet, snapping his fingers to a tune only he could hear, and using pencils from the clerk's counter to drum on the plastic chair next to him. Peter closed his eyes and seemed to go totally zen, only occasionally squinting over at Micky when the curly-haired Monkee got a little too noisy. Mike, feeling almost as wound up as Micky seemed to be, alternated between staring at the clock as each second ticked off, and quietly pacing the floor in front of the other two, much as Davy had, while trying very hard not to snap at Micky to knock it off.

Seriously. Sometimes the happy go lucky drummer forgot that he was an adult and not a toddler. Mike glared at Micky when the agitated clerk finally approached from around her counter and demanded her pencils back. Micky caught Mike's glare and shrugged sheepishly, then continued his drum solo, this time with his fingers. At least it was quieter than pencils.

The clock was creeping up on an hour when the door opened and Davy stepped out. Mike, Peter and Micky all stood immediately, waiting for word.

“Well?” Micky asked after several seconds. “How'd it go?”

Davy shrugged. “It went okay, I guess. I feel like I did well. I won't know until they look it over. I get to take the driving test in the mean time.”

“Right now?” Peter asked.

“As soon as the instructor pulls the test car around,” Davy smiled.

“You got this in the bag, babe,” Mike assured Davy. He laid his hand on the shorter boy's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, earning an appreciative smile in return. He really had no doubt that Davy could pass the driving test as long as he didn't let his nerves take over. He hoped that Davy did as well as he felt he had on the written portion or he was going to be a disappointed young man who would have wasted his time passing the driving test only to have already failed the written exam.

“Good luck, Davy,” Peter called out as Davy followed the instructor to a back door that took them outside.

“Keep to the right!” Micky yelled as the door clicked shut behind them. Mike gave Micky a hard nudge, reminding him that they might be close to being put out on the sidewalk. He didn't think the clerk would bother with one more glare before it happened.

The clerk, for her part, was settling down at the counter with Davy's exam. When she began comparing the answers with what appeared to be a duplicate set of papers, Mike realized that she was the one checking and grading Davy's test. He tried to surreptitiously keep track of whether she was marking the answers correct or incorrect but it was difficult to tell from his seat. He considered wandering over and making small talk long enough to get a glance but decided that might irritate her enough to be done with them.

Twice she left Davy's test sitting when another customer came in and needed service. The third time it happened, Micky stood up and stretched, then oh-so-casually wandered to the end of the counter where Davy's half graded test sat unattended. Mike didn't realize what Micky was up to until it was too late to do much without causing a scene. Instead, he tried to suppress a groan that Micky wasn't being as casual as he thought he was while still hoping that he'd get a good enough glance to tell them something.

At the far end of the counter, the clerk – Dolores, her name plate said – was aiming a camera at a man for what seemed to be a license renewal. Before she snapped the picture, she cleared her throat meaningfully. Micky missed it, but Mike looked over to see the middle aged woman staring pointedly at Micky's ridiculous attempts to read upside down, all pretenses of casually leaning on the counter abandoned. Mike stood and strode over to Micky, grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the seats. He shot an embarrassed smile at Delores and was surprised to see that she seemed to be holding back an amused grin of her own.

Several minutes after she had returned to grading Davy's test, Delores made a show of putting her pen back in it's holder, closing Davy's exam booklet and putting the answer booklet back into a drawer. When she noticed that she had the eager stares of all three Monkees, she gave them a thumbs up, to the surprise of each of them, and a small wink.

Peter gasped and Micky asked “Does that mean…?”

“I think it does,” Mike answered, a slow smile growing.

The relief was palpable and all three of them were noticeably less anxious. Davy still had to pass the driving part of the test but Mike knew first hand that Davy had the skills to do so and he assured Peter and Micky of that more than once.

The driving part of Davy's test took less time than the written and soon he came back through the door he'd left by. He joined the other three Monkees, who stood to meet him, and they congregated in a small and intimate circle while they talked.

“Well?” Mike asked.

“Good,” Davy answered. “I think it went good. The bloke didn't say much but that isn't always bad, right? 'E'd have said if I messed anything up, right?”

“It's a good sign, Davy.” Peter patted his shoulder comfortingly.

Behind the counter, the clerk and the instructor conferred for only a couple of moments. 

“Mr. Jones?” Delores called. “A moment, please? We need some information from you.”

Davy made his way to the counter and the others watched as he filled out a form and handed it back. When he stood against the wall and stared wide eyed at the camera, they knew he'd passed. They watched in barely restrained glee as his picture was taken, it was printed onto his paper license and then signed by both the clerk and the instructor.

"Congratulations, young man.” The instructor handed Davy his license with a bland smile. It was all in a day's work for him.

Davy rushed to show it to the other guys. Mike held it for a moment, still warm from the press, and smiled at Davy's wide eyed, almost startled expression in the picture.

“Good job, Tiny,” Mike smiled sincerely as he passed the paper license around to the other guys. He pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Well, I'm tired of drivin'” he said slyly. “Someone else should drive home.”

An expectant pause from all three of his friends, accompanied by eagerness from Davy. Mike turned to Micky and held the keys up. “Mick? You up for drivin' home?” A wink accompanied his word.

“Mike!” Davy yelled and made a grab for the keys. The lanky Texan ran from the room with a laugh, Davy right behind him. Micky and Peter exchanged an amused look then took off after their friends. They both knew Davy would be driving home.

 

_fin_

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N #2). I might have taken some small (very small) liberties with the guys' ages. I'm using the show version of their ages instead of the real life version, which we know is about a two year difference (the younger set being for the show version). We only get a couple hints, early on, as to their ages in the show. We know that early on in season 1, show-version Mike was 21 yrs old*. We also know that the rest of them were 'too young to drink' around that same time**. If using the real-life differences between some of their ages as well as the show version, we know that Davy is exactly 3 yrs younger than Mike (RL-same day of birth, even). The other two are in between, on the show - in reality, Micky is same age as Davy, and Peter is a few months older than Mike, but because Mike once states that he is 21, and around that time Peter once states that they are 'too young to drink', deductive reasoning (cleverly ignoring that it might just be bad continuance plot holes), my head canon for the show says that Mike is the oldest, Davy is the youngest with three year between him and Mike, Mickey and Peter are in between (I tend to put them each a year apart, just for the hell of it).  
> Did any of that make sense? And was that explanation as pointless as it seems?  
> * 'I've got a little song here' – S1 E12  
> ** 'Monkees in a Ghost Town' – S1 E7


End file.
